Cancer Survival

I don't constantly think about the fact that I had cancer. Well, that's not exactly true. I think about it everyday in tangential ways. I have physical reminders that I see everyday. I have to take a pill everyday. I frequent a particular breast cancer bulletin board fairly regularly, at this point to offer support or answer questions more than seeking support for myself.

However, thinking of myself as an active cancer patient is not something I do. I pretty much feel like I am over the crisis of cancer and its treatment. It doesn't have any immediate, urgent hold over me.

I do sometimes wonder about what will happen 20 years down the road because the type of cancer I had was one that likes to recur many years later and, in fact, the more years that pass by the higher my individual risk of recurrence becomes. That is mainly a result of my age and the fact that my cancer was hormone positive. If I had been 55 at diagnosis, 20 years later would put me at 75 and chances are that I would be dealing with other health issues, and even if I wasn't, I might only have another 10 years or so of life expectancy.

Being diagnosed at 34 skews the picture somewhat. 20 years from my diagnosis I'll only be 54. 30 years later, only 64....no spring chicken by any means, but by today's standards, still a relatively vital age and young time to die. Of course, recurring doesn't mean that I would die from cancer. There are people who successfully fight cancer multiple times and beat it.

So what's got me thinking about all this?

One of the posters on the bulletin board I frequent died this past week. This happens on a regular basis because although many people will deal with breast cancer only once, there will always be some who will develop metastasis and eventually pass away. Even with good odds, someone represents the bad odds. If 90%-95% of women with my type of cancer never develop metastasis, there is always someone who is in the 5%-10% of those who will.

Being a part of a breast cancer community bears this out.

Communicating with many other women about breast cancer turns one into a mini-expert, supplemented with the PhD. in medicine that most of us earn from Google University. You start to learn the differences between triple negative cancer, hormone positive cancer, Her2+ cancer, and all the different treatments that people get and why they get them.

You also learn statistics; how particular statistics impact you or don't. It's easy to start to feel as if you have a talisman of knowledge that soothes and comforts you. You hear of someone who develops mets and then see that their cancer had worse characteristics than yours, or that they were diagnosed at a later stage, or with a larger tumor.....all things which are extremely relevant to the stats game.

It's easy, as an early-stage survivor with good stats, to gain a sense of, "Well....that's scary, but it probably won't happen to me." Maybe that's even necessary for healthily overcoming fear or worry.

However, every once in a while your little good stats bubble will burst.

Like this week when the woman who passed away had almost identical stats as me....same stage, same grade, almost identical hormone responsiveness...and actually her stats were slightly better, being completely node-negative while I had those stupid Isolated Tumor Cells in 2 of my nodes. She had no lymphovascular invasion and I did.

She was diagnosed with cancer at 33. I found my lump while I was 33.

She developed bone mets within a year or two of her diagnosis, and then it eventually progressed.

It kind of took the wind out of my sails and downgraded the power of my talisman.....because there is no known reason why things should have played out that way for her....which in turn means there is no known reason why they shouldn't play out that way for me.

One of the wise things a now deceased member of the bulletin board reminded us, right after another hard-to-understand, defiance-of-the-good-stats passing of a member, was that we shouldn't write ourselves into other people's stories. Each person had their own story and it was theirs alone.....so no matter how similar we might seem to others, it didn't mean we had the same story or outcome.

It was true then, and it is still true now.

One Year Ago

I headed into my first chemo treatment.

It was the beginning of what I call "The Lost Summer" and the scariest part of dealing with the cancer diagnosis that I had. I never felt so awful in my entire life. Fortunately, the worst part would pass about a week after receiving chemo. Then, I would have a couple of weeks of recovery and feeling pretty normal before starting the whole process over again.

By the time treatment was over, sometime in September 08, I was physically and emotionally tired and anemic.

I didn't know, until about halfway through treatment, that chemo not only makes you physically tired and sick, but that it interacts with your brain chemistry. Taxanes, in particular, have been tied to poorer emotional response during treatment, and prolonged susceptibility to clinical depression for up to two years after treatment:

The researchers also observed that patients who received taxane agents had significantly worse emotional distress and mental quality of life throughout the treatment period. Their psychologic recovery was significantly slower, requiring an average of 2 years, compared with the 6 to 12 months required by patients who did not receive taxane.

The rates of probable clinical depression were also higher among patients receiving taxanes. In particular, there were statistically significant group differences in depressive symptoms at 12 and 18 months, and a trend toward such at 24 months. The rates of probable depression among patients who didn't receive taxanes declined to less than 10% by the 12-month follow-up, whereas the rates in the taxane group remained high (at approximately 20%).

I can testify that it truly did affect me. I remember one treatment period in which I completely broke down, crying and fearful and completely unraveled emotionally. A few days later, I felt perfectly normal and looked back on that episode, wondering at its oddness. It seemed out of proportion for what I was dealing with.

Once I knew that some of what I was feeling was simply a side effect of one of the treatment drugs, I felt more in control.

Not quite a year out from treatment, I can't say that I have felt clinically depressed, though I have had moments of feeling overwhelmed or moody....but considering all that has happened in the last year, it doesn't seem out of the ordinary.

Yesterday, I went in for a breast MRI. I had been having some soreness in a certain area, and though it was very unlikely for it to be cancer, we scanned just to be sure.

Everything came back completely clean.

Standing back from things, one year out, with a completely clean MRI and no reason to expect having anything to worry about for quite some time, I could feel a sense of relief overtake me.

A year can make all the difference in the world.

"After School Special" moment

The Rationalist brought home a field trip form last week.  Because I'm not working this year, I was happy to offer to be a parent chaperon.  

"Oh neat, I can go with you on your field trip this year!"

awkward pause

"Do you want me to be a chaperon?"

"I don't know. Will your hair be back by then?"

"Uh....considering it's only a few weeks away, probably not. Why?"

"Well, I don't want you to go if you're bald."

"Why not?"

"It might be embarrassing. What if everyone says, 'Hey J--, your mom is bald?' What if people laugh at you?"

"What if they do?  Do you think your friends are that mean?"

"I don't know.  I just don't want them to see you bald."

"Well...I always wear a hat when I'm not at home."

"But what if it falls off, or the wind blows it off?"

"I don't think that's going to happen. Listen, if being embarrassed is the only reason you don't want me to go, that's not a good reason.  There will always be people around who can be mean and make fun of you, or anybody else, for no reason. If you don't do things just because you're afraid that someone might try and embarrass you, there will be a lot of things you'll miss out on in life."

thinking about it

"OK...you can come....just don't wear your Scottish hat.  It looks goofy."

Goofy's a little harsh....don't you think?

The Searing Truth

I participate in an online Breast Cancer support forum. It has been an immense help to go back and forth with other women my age who are going through treatment. The forum boards can be deadly serious, wildly crazy, political, hilarious....like just about any internet forum with little moderation.

Over the past week, one of the posters on the forum wrote that her 3-year-old son had died during Hurricane Ike along with his father, her ex. The boards overflowed with an outpouring of support and sympathy for her. Offers to help out. Expressions of grief.

Eventually, it was discovered that not only had this woman's child not passed away, but she didn't have one....and probably had never had breast cancer.

It was all a false identity......shocking but true.

This created something of a dilemma for the members of the forum, which consists of hundreds, if not thousands, of people. Those who were in the know tried to keep from publicly outing this person, out of a fear that she might be mentally ill and harm herself. Many private messages were sent back and forth, which expanded the amount of people who knew the truth, without publicly flogging this individual.

The problem was that members who had not been on the forum for a few days, and also new members, had no idea what was going on. They continued to post on the death announcement, conveying their condolences. Many were wanting to send cards, and even gift cards to help out financially.

Finally, someone made up a new account and anonymously detailed the whole story, listing all the evidence and exposing the deceit in all its glory....proven by the deceiver's own, very contradictory, posts from the past year.

Many people were upset about the public unmasking. They were worried about this individual and felt that letting everyone know would make her do something drastic.

I had started out feeling that way, but then came to the conclusion that the only way to have this person end her charade was to keep it public. If everyone knows the truth, her power to possibly scam members for money disappears.

The question I ask now:

Is there ever a time to keep a truth like this hidden?

I have come to believe that when an individual has harmed a community that they have been a part of, that only full truthfulness before that community is acceptable.

I've seen it happen in churches and in families.

When we try to hide the full truth because we are concerned about the individual, we inevitably harm the community they are a part of. When someone has issues with honesty, leaving things unspoken and partially hidden allows them to find a shadowy corner to cultivate their schemes and cling to the lies with people who are not informed about the entire truth.

Yet, when the whole truth is revealed, they must either capitulate, or run from the searing light of honesty, looking for a new community to infiltrate....beginning anew their cycle of deception.

The light of truth can be harsh, but also enlightening.

Last Chemo!

Tomorrow is my last chemo treatment of Taxotere and Cytoxan.

I will be so ecstatic once I get past the next week of suffering and start the recovery process without having to be knocked down again a couple of weeks later.

Overall, I have been OK, but I have felt much weaker due to becoming slightly anemic. My red blood count has gone down consistently after each treatment. Last time I was a 10.2; below 12 is considered anemic. My counts will probably go down a little more, but hopefully not too much. If they get close to an 8, I may have to have a blood transfusion...which I do not want.

Monkey is getting better and actually made it to school today...but now the Rationalist has a slight fever, says he feels funny, and is starting to form blisters inside his mouth...joy. Despite all my efforts and reminders to wash hands, not share food, and keep their distance from each other, I couldn't keep it from spreading.

The main concern now is to keep me from getting it. I'm given tons of steroids during chemo which suppresses the immune systems ability to fight infection. That, combined with the damage my body takes from the chemo itself, puts me in danger of infection. The chemo can also cause mouth sores and blisters on its own...so getting this little germ my boys are carrying would be bad news for me.

I'm praying a lot...and plan to not leave my bedroom for a week!

I probably won't post for a while again.

I'll be too busy trying to get through this last gauntlet.

The good news is that when I get back to regular posting, I won't have to whine about hating chemo.

Me:0, Chemo:2

So....have I mentioned how much I hate volunteering for torture chemo?

I mean HATE!....with a capital H.

My husband keeps having to listen to me enumerate the many reasons why I am not ever letting them do this to me again. I won't. I'll run off to Hawaii, or buy some kooky "natural" cure online, or surround myself with crystals and incense and chocolate....anything other than purposely letting someone poison my body and making me suffer for a week.

This past week was difficult, not just because I felt so awful, but because the seriousness of my body's reaction reminds me that I am dealing with a monster. There's a reason the treatment is so drastic.

I actually forget, sometimes, that I had cancer in me. It's not so much forgetting, as possessing a combination of denial, faith, and optimism.....although the line between faith and denial can be hard to discern.

In my mind, I don't really believe that I am going to have to deal with cancer again. I've tried to "get through" everything that has been thrown at me, looking forward to sometime in September when I will be "done" with treatment/cancer. Of course, I won't be done. I'll be monitored and tested and watched closely for at least a couple of years. I'll have to always be vigilant.

It brings up memories of a woman I knew many years ago who had to go through treatment three different times, for three different cancers--a mother of three children. I brought her meals and visited her, but I know that I probably had no concept of what she was dealing with, emotionally. She recovered and is hopefully doing well, having moved away some time ago. Still, I wonder how useful I was to a woman who has battled such a monster.

Anyway, the realization that I may never be "done" with cancer, in the way that I want to be, washed over me during the worst of my days this week.

It is frustrating to feel powerless; to know there is only so much control that I have over my body, what it does, how it responds to treatment and the permanent effects of the treatments I have had, surgical or otherwise.

It sucks.

I could use many four-letter words to elaborate, but I don't want to offend all of you gentle readers, who are probably as sick of hearing about chemo as I am of experiencing it

Day Before 2nd Chemo

I measure everything by my treatment dates now.

"Oh, that's the week before chemo. I'll be feeling fine let's make plans for that week."

"Oh, that's the week after chemo. I'll be feeling like crap and having to stay out of public places...no can do!"

"Oh, the first day of school is 5 days after my treatment. I might not be well enough to take the boys that first day."

I have all my dates circled on the calendar and am working the entire family's schedule around it. It's kind of a bummer. I'm just glad that after the first week of misery that I seem to rebound and start to feel normal. Let's hope that pattern continues.

Today I called up some friends of the boys, and their mom, and we hung out at the park and watched them run solidly for an hour, chasing each other, hiding from each other, and climbing the enormous oak trees. We came back to our house so that the boys could show the Wii to their friends and let them play with it.

I talked and visited with their mom, who is the sweetest.

It was a good time, and a great way to spend my last day before I go in for treatment tomorrow.

I'm hoping that I will do better this time around, now that I have more of a sense of what to expect. I have all my necessary meds and preparations all stocked up and ready to go. Maybe I can manage my symptoms better this time around.

Here's hoping.

My New Hairdo

When I took a shower today, 1/3 of my hair came out in my hands. I couldn't deny that it was all going to come out eventually. My sister-in-law came up and helped shave it off so that I wouldn't have handfuls of long hair constantly coming out.

Here's my new look.

I'm ready for Boot Camp, Master Sergeant, Sir!

Here's an unflattering photo of me with my gorgeous, size 2, sister-in-law.

She was so sweet to do this for me. She even brought me three beautiful scarves to cover my head...so as not to frighten the public. :-)

Me and my hair.

The Beginning of Baldness?

My hair is starting to fall out.

It's a little early. Cytoxan, one of the chemo drugs I'm on, usually causes hair loss within 2-3 weeks. I'm a few days shy of the 2 week mark, but some of my hair is already committing hari kari by leaping from my scalp onto the deadly spikes of my brush, or the distant ground below. If I listen closely, I can hear their muffled screams as they plummet to their deaths,"Aaaiieee....!"

I have enough hair on my head for twenty people, so it's not noticeable at this point, but if the process begins to accelerate, I'm going to have to shave my head. I can't walk around spontaneously leaving clumps of hair in a trail behind me like a molting animal.

I may call my sister-in-law, a hair-dresser, and see if she wants to do the honor of shaving it for me. I'm not sure if that would be a good idea, or not. She can be emotional and I don't want her to freak out when it's done and my head is bare. I'll be doing enough freaking out for myself.

She's Alive!

I'm feeling pretty good, now.

Definitely manageable.

The only problem is my White Blood Counts were too low--1.5. 4 is the low end of normal. They have given me shots over the last two days to try and force my body manufacture more cells. Having my counts so low puts me at a high risk of infection.

I've been washing my hands...A LOT.

Overall, I am recovering. I can do things around the house and I'm not having the pain that I experienced that first week after treatment. I get tired out and feel a little weak sometimes, but I am in so much better shape than I was before.

Thank You God!

Reluctantly Attained Insight

I wrote this on Tuesday, July 8th.

This is the first day that I have felt was manageable since Thursday. Chemo hit me hard and still reaches out to sock me every once in a while. It was way worse than I had anticipated. I spent most of the time bed-ridden and in pain from my body's reaction to the treatment.

I realized a few things.

Prolonged physical suffering can reduce the average person to despair. I have had pain in my life. I have had several surgeries before, other times of not feeling well, but none of it can compare to how I felt this past week.

There is a certain level of constant nagging pain that blocks out thoughts of anything else. You can't watch TV. You can't read a book. You can't play a game. You can't even carry on a conversation. All that rings through your head is the sound of your own discomfort, and the ticking of the clock as time slowly records your suffering.

I had never experienced that before.

It made me realize how out of touch I was with what real "suffering" was like. The visceral, raw potential for your body to make you miserable is unlimited. I laid in bed wondering how people with advanced cancer do this for years. I wanted to quit after this first treatment, and I'm not just saying that. It took all my strength to keep from calling my oncologist and swearing that I would never consent to this legal torture again.

I felt that badly.

I'm sure I will have more compassion for people dealing with chronic pain/illness in the future.

Me: 0, Chemo: 1

Chemo is totally kicking my butt.

I wish I could say it was all in my head, but my achy bones, constant fatigue and the ever-present sensation that I might be sick at any moment counter that thought--that, and the fact that I have slept more than I thought humanly possible.

I'm having a hard time with it mentally. Localized pain and surgery, though drastic and no picnic, were much easier for me to deal with. Somehow the nagging flu-likeness seems worse to me than losing my breast. Trauma, emergencies, one-time events; I can deal with them pretty handily. Knowing I am going to have go through this another 3 times over the next three months somehow seems more depressing and overwhelming to me.

I just want to feel normal.

Time, please pass quickly.

Chemo Update--Cycle 1

I went in for my chemo around 9:00 am yesterday and was finished by 12:45 pm. I didn't feel any differently immediately afterwards and even went to Wal-Mart with DH to pick up my anti-nausea meds. I had to pop a Compazine tablet towards dinnertime yesterday because I could definitely feel the nausea coming on. It helped with the nausea, but I didn't feel up to eating.

Today, I have some prescribed anti-emetics that I take for today and tomorrow. The second and third day after chemo are usually the worst as all the chemicals start working through your system.

I don't feel completely floored. I am definitely functional and the meds seem to help, but I do feel kind of shaky and a little out of it--not 100%, but about 85%. My face and chest are flushed pink, a side effect of the Taxotere, I think.

Otherwise, right now I am doing OK and hope I continue to weather everything with minimal downtime.

Chemo Day

Because of my unexpected trip to Illinois, I delayed my chemo for a few days. I was supposed to start on Monday, but changed it to tomorrow, July 2nd.

Honestly, I haven't had much time to think about it, or be consumed by nervous anticipation. I have been so busy with the trip, and caring for my mother, that it hasn't even entered my mind.

That's probably a good thing.

I started a course of oral steroids today, according to my oncologist's orders. I take them the day before, the day of, and the day after chemo, supposedly to help with nausea and chemo side effects. I have been told that most people react to chemo, not on the day of treatment, but 2-3 days later, so the 4th of July might be interesting. Hopefully, the steroids will help.

I'll blog sometime tomorrow about how everything went down.

The Next Step

Yesterday, I had my appointment with the oncologist. He seemed to be in a more receptive mood, or maybe that was me. I was a little pissed with him during our last meeting when he didn't back me up on my desire to avoid the axillary dissection part of my surgery.

Anyhoo....he talked with me at length and we settled on a date to start my chemotherapy--June 30th. I'll be having treatments once every three weeks for four sessions.

The oncology nurse led me to the treatment room as she explained the process. A large room, lined with cushy reclining chairs and IV poles, was filled with people receiving their chemo. Attached to the ceiling, in the center of the room, were multiple TVs facing each part of the room. It was very quiet despite the the presence of 15-20 people. I guess silence is the status quo response when your veins are being pumped with chemicals for a few hours.

Being in the oncologist's office feels surreal. I have to keep reminding myself that I had cancer and am supposed to be here, but it's hard to remember that when everyone else in the office looks to be in their sixties, and here I am, seemingly healthy and mobile in every other way.

Humor tends to get me through all of this, leaving the impression with my doctors that I am somehow unfazed by everything, which is sometimes true. On the other hand, laughing is easier than crying. While lamenting to the nurse that I had just gotten back from vacation and probably had gained a few pounds, she adjusted the metal blocks on the scale and pronounced,"No worries...you actually lost weight."

I replied with a laugh,"Yeah...having a mastectomy is a quick way to lose a few pounds!"

She looked shocked for a moment, and then realized I wasn't offended, but was simply making light of the situation, and allowed herself to laugh too.

Now, it's just a waiting game until the end of this month. I plan on having some more summer fun in the next two weeks and getting any large projects out of the way, before this next part of the journey. Who knows? Maybe I'll be in the small percentage of people who don't react dramatically to chemo. I always seem to fall in those small percentages, so maybe I'll land on the positive side of those statistics this time.

Sunday Blah's

I'm missing church again this morning.

Although I feel well in general, some swelling has developed right under my arm from the surgery. Right by my shoulder it looks as if someone slid a small lime just under my skin. Sort of freaky. It's not a big deal, and will dissipate over the next couple of weeks, but for the moment it makes wearing certain clothing very uncomfortable.

And then there's the fact that I am still unbalanced, physically speaking. I can't get a prosthesis, for another week or so, which makes sitting in church, hoping the polyester-fill puffs that I can wear aren't shifting around, an unappealing choice.

I had enough embarrassing moments in my adolescence, I don't need to add to my mental collection of humiliation. Creating new memories in that category is the opposite of what I was hoping for as I aged. I'd rather let the ones I do recall fade to black as my memory gets worse. No need to replace them.

Anyway, I miss church. Getting out of the house and having something else to focus on would be good for me. Plus, I'm missing communion today and won't partake in it again until the first Sunday of the next month.

However, by then I should be unswollen, balanced, and mostly normal...although I'm not sure normal is a good word to describe me.

:-)

Today's News

Today, the doctor called and said the pathology on my lymph nodes came back...ALL CLEAR! Yay! That means I'm still at stage I. On the one hand, I am very happy and relieved, on the other hand, I wish I had been more stubborn with my opinion not to remove the nodes. It turns out I was right. However, hindsight being 20/20, I'm going to take the good news and try not to focus on the cynical spin my mind wants to put on it.

Today is The Rationalist's birthday. We celebrated this past weekend because I knew I wouldn't be able to do much this week. Even so, the day is still special. The Rationalist and Intuitive Monkey have been saving up their allowance, birthday money, Christmas money, and any small change they've found on the sidewalk for a very long time. They finally had enough combined money to buy a Wii.

This has been the Holy Grail of their existence. They have been keeping track of every cent for many months. They currently use the computer to play games, but haven't had any game system in the house. Every time in the last two years that we've been in Target or Wal-Mart, they would stare longingly at the game display cases, making plans for the future.

Today, DH happened to get his hands on a Wii. He brought it home, set it up, and after testing it out for over an hour, came into the bedroom to tell me that it was DH tested and approved. He was actually sweaty from the boxing game.

The kids came home, immediately saw the empty box, and began shouting,"We have a Wii! We have a Wii! We have a Wii!"

After a few quick pointers, and after their homework was done, they were up and playing--bowling, tennis, boxing, baseball. I think they hit every one of the sports games.

I sat on the couch, slightly jealous, but excited for them. It looks like a lot of fun, but I can't use it until I heal up some more.

The Rationalist positively glowed with glee.

DH has taken The Rationalist and his brother out for a birthday dinner. I'm still too sore for a night out, so I'm holding down the fort.

It's OK though.

I'm grateful for a good weekend with my family. I am grateful for the good pathology report. I am grateful that the unknown scariness of my surgery has come and gone. I am grateful that DH is a good father who can fill the gaps left by my recuperation. I am grateful that, despite my diagnosis and going through all of this, I have a family that loves me and each other.

I have much to be thankful for in the midst of everything.

The good more than makes up for the bad.

Back Home

I'm back home as of yesterday evening.

Things went well at the hospital; no complications or Nurse Ratchett types. The staff was very kind and helpful.

I spent most of Monday in an anaesthetic fog, coming in and out of things for several hours. I didn't really become alert until evening. DH was there with me all day, making sure I was taken care of. I knew I married that guy for some reason.

I feel pretty good considering everything. I'm a little tired and my arm is simultaneously numb and sore from the node dissection, but overall I'm not feeling too terrible.

The kids were happy to see me and had lots of questions for me. I think I spent 30 minutes explaining the scientific details of the drains that are in my arm. There are several feet of plastic tubing, clipped to my clothing, that drain fluid away from the incisions. It's not very pretty to look at, but is very fascinating for the boys.

"So..that's your blood?"

"Why is it sometimes clear?"

"Does it hurt?"

"I learned that blood isn't really red, it's just the red blood cells that make it look that way."

I felt like a science experiment, or one of those plastinated bodies that are always being carted around to museum exhibitions. All in all, I am happy to let them be fascinated instead of fearful.

Right now, I am just glad to have everything done. Worrying about events is almost always more troubling than going through them.

My percocet is kicking in. Time for a nap.

Tomorrow

Tomorrow, DH and I head to the hospital at around 8:30 am. My surgery is scheduled for 10:30. I will be staying overnight and then be sent home the next day, provided there are no complications. I am a little nervous, but not excessively so. I have had a lot of time to mentally prepare for this, even if it's something I don't want to have happen.

My brother called; my dad called; my aunt-in-law(?) called. Everyone was very kind with their thoughtful sentiments and expressions of good will. I appreciate them all.

My mother-in-law arrived with an enormous basket of goodies to keep me amused as I recuperate; snacks, magazines, books, lotions to wear, pajamas to laze in, slippers to keep my feet warm, etc. My in-laws are incredible people. I always tell DH that I got the better deal in our marriage.

To those of you who have prayed for, and are praying for me...Thank You. Normally I don't think too much about my blogging audience in terms of actual people, who are actually thinking of me in real life. It's easy to forget about the individual people behind the user names I encounter here, or elsewhere.

Thank you for your thoughtfulness and the time you have taken to pray for some strange woman on the other end of a computer screen. It means a lot to me.

Ugh..I have so much to do in the next few days. So, I thought I would get a jump start on my procrastination of chores by wasting my time blogging. Why do now what I can put off, and freak out about, until later? Isn't this the whole purpose of blogging; to make us forget about the real stuff we have to do?

Today was my last day at work. The program I work for actually continues for two more weeks, but with my surgery on Monday, it will have to go on without me.

It's somewhat sad to be done. I really enjoyed my job. It was interesting, active, and fit perfectly with my personality. I was able to interact with people while still being on my own for the most part. It also fit into our family's life and schedule like a glove.

Because the program follows the school schedule, it will stop during the summer and resume in the fall. I will be in the middle of chemo then, but I had hoped to maybe come back afterward. Unfortunately, I don't think that's going to happen. My doctors and I had been I had been debating about having an axillary dissection done as part of the mastectomy on Monday. It's a normal part of a modified radical mastectomy that removes an entire set of lymph nodes from the armpit/breast area. The nodes are sent to pathology to look for cancer and help determine treatment options. In my previous surgery, the surgeon took the first 2 nodes--that's a sentinel node biopsy. When later tests came back showing isolated tumor cells, my surgeon immediately wanted to take the rest of my nodes.

I've been throwing a hissy fit because I have not wanted that to happen. When all the nodes are removed, it impairs the arm's ability to fight infection and drain the arm and chest area properly. It can cause lymphedema, a swelling of the arm that is incurable once it develops. It might remain minor, or it can swell the arm to twice its normal size.

uh...yeah....I don't want that.

The chances that those tiny tumor cells will translate into more cancer in my nodes is very small; something like 5%. The chances that a breast cancer patient will develop lymphedema after an axillary dissection can be as high as 40%. I've been willing to take the 5% chance, but my doctors keep pushing me away from that....which I have found annoying.

Ultimately, if I were single, and more importantly, did not have children, I would have insisted that I wasn't going to let them do the dissection. Except, I'm not either of those things. I have people who depend on me, children I want to see grow up. So, I have decided to let them rip the nodes out of my arm, knowing it will probably be fruitless, simply because I won't gamble with the life of my children's mother....even if the odds are 95% in my favor.

What all that means is that I won't be able to do the job that I currently do. My right arm will have to be protected. I won't be able to have injections in it, have my blood pressure taken on it, or do repetitive, weight-bearing motions with it--basically what I do all day right now.

It stinks.

It's sad to say good-bye to a job I liked just because my body wants to have a little tantrum right now. I keep having to do things I don't want to do, and make choices I don't want to make...all thanks to stupid cancer cells that have nothing better to do than try and invade my body.

But, what can you do? Life happens and you deal with it. Wishing things away doesn't erase them from reality...though I wish it did. No. Things are the way they are, and you can only move forward, working through the obstacles in your path.

God is here with me, and my family. I won't attribute cancer to God's wil. I will acknowledge that it doesn't matter. He's God whether I am perfectly healthy, or bed-ridden. He's God whether I feel Him or not. He's God no matter what my circumstances seem like today, and I will rest in that.

I will rest in the knowledge that I don't have to know everything or be perfect, or make sure I've turned around three times and prayed out loud for healing, or begged and pleaded in great waves of emotion, or bargained my way to the outcome I want.

To quote some ancient guy who had some jerks for friends, "Though he slay me, yet will I praise him."

Except....I don't really think God is slaying me. It's more like there is some slaying going on, and He just happens to be near the general slaying area. I'm sure He'll be more of a comfort than Job's buddies.